Pokémon are not the lovable monster pets that you keep around the house like the ones in the anime or show off in battle and beauty contests. To the citizens of this world, these creatures wielding powers beyond mortal means are symbols of fear and terror.
And rightly so, if any indication of what little I remembered from the games were true that is.
You see, originally, I was not a citizen of this world, much less the city state of Fiore.
I was a second year University student on board a Mathematics programme with heavy emphasis on statistics and programming. Prior exposure to Psychology modules made writing essays less of a chore and the compulsory economic modules more bearable.
So, imagine my confusion and panic when, instead of waking up on the desk I had dozed off at, I woke up on a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping monitors with IV drips attached to my arm and an oxygen mask attached to my face.
A series of wild questions and absurd situations ran through my head as I analysed the situation before me until I came to a single disbelieving conclusion.
Somehow, I was now in another world.
No thanks to the sudden invasion of memories that caused me to pass out, the pain proving itself too much for me to handle.
It was one thing reading many fictions of this trope. It was another to really experience it myself, waking up in a familiar body that's clearly not mine. I decidedly chose to ignore the existential crisis around the corner. That was one rabbit hole I did not want to fall into.
At first, I had some problems with the language, taking some time to burn those squiggly lines and shapes into my mind, and associating them with the standard 26 letters of the alphabet. Rote-memorisation was the way to go, though I wasn't too pleased in having to experience school again considering the sheer stupidity of what kids think and do these days.
I would know, considering my earlier years of private institution, inciting others to run across tables and generally whipping up the whole class into a frenzy. It would only be in my later years that I mellowed down, babysitting for my parent's friends, and working part-time to earn some pocket money.
Fast forward several years, while mediating Tai Chi, parkouring, and dabbling in other matters of interest, I grew accustomed to this world I had once thought to be fictional.
Once again, it is Selection Day. While today is my fifth time attending, last one to be exact, it is only the first time for Rosalyn, my supposed cousin.
Like other families, we took one of the magnet trains from our home district to the central district where our city gate is stationed. Although our compartment were nearly full, almost no sound were heard from within. None of the children wanted to be here. Most of them are frozen in terror or crying silently.
Practically, all were hoping to be going anywhere but the Central District. Unfortunately, they are given little choice in this matter. Regardless of wealth and position, those who fail to show up will suffer severe penalties.
We sit on a bench in one of the last train carts. My cousin Rosa huddles in between her parents while her mother clutches her. My foster father and I sit stoically next to one another. He stares at the floor while I lean back, eyes closed.
"So, today is the day," he says, finally looking up from the floor. I could tell that the silence was getting to him. As stoic as he was, he has never been the one to sit quietly for long periods of time.
Opening my eyes, I reply curtly. "Yes, it is."
"It's the last time you have to go through this nightmare," he says, "After today, you are a free man. You will be able to start getting your life in order and prepare for civilian life."
"The day is not over yet. I still have to make it through the selection, who knows what will happen?" I pointed out.
"The odds are in your favour, there will be thousands of kids at the selection and only one of you. You will get through this."
"I'm still scared," a voice whispers. So soft that I nearly miss it. Rosa was looking at us from her mother's arms.
"There's nothing to be scared about," my foster mother said. "It's just as your father says. There will be many children there and only one of you. The odds of being selected are small. Just look at Dexter. He has already been there four times and four times has he walked away without being chosen. This time will be no different, and so will you."
"But what if I do get chosen? I don't want to be a Pokémon trainer." Rosa starts crying softly, holding on to her mother as if her life depended on it.
"Stop that," her father told her. "Crying won't solve anything. Just keep your together and stay strong. You will make it through this."
"But what if I don't?" Rosa asked, still crying.
"Look at me," I said softly.
Rosa turned to look at me.
"If, by any chance, you do get chosen. Stay calm and stay strong. Be prepared for the worst but don't be afraid. I'll chase away any flies away from our darling rose."
I pinch her cheeks with a bit more strength than usual, hoping for the dark cloud hovering over her head to dispel. Too successful, perhaps, as it results in Rosa pouting and glaring at me with puffy red eyes.
"Dexter!" Her mother admonishes, "Don't say that to her. And don't do that again. She won't be chosen. Neither of you will be chosen. Let's just make it through today and tonight we will all go home together."
"Relax. I was just trying to make the atmosphere lighter. There are hundreds of kids out there. It's highly unlikely for-".
"That's enough," Her father firmly said. "Whatever happens, happens. Let's not spend the day arguing amongst ourselves. Besides we are bothering the other families in the cart."
I look around and sure enough, I see several of the other parents glaring our way. Some of the children that were quiet before were now crying as well. I looked away from them and don't say a word. We all spend the rest of journey in silence.
***
"State your name, age and district," the official said without looking up.
"Dexter Byrne. Age 15. District 7. "
The official finally looked up at me. "Your last time on the chopping block, huh?" he asked rhetorically. After typing some keys on the computer, he continued, "I hope the odds are in your favour today. Head in to the inner courtyard and wait for the selection to begin. Next!"
I moved to the side to allow Rosa to step forward.
"State your name, age and district."
Rosa freezes in place after stepping forward. After a moment, her father finally spoke up on her behalf.
"Rosalyn Smith. Age 11. District 7."
"First timer, huh? I hope the odds are in your favour kid. Just head in to the inner courtyard and wait for the Selection to begin. Next!" he says, dismissing us.
***
We stop right outside the gate which marks the boundary between the outer courtyard to the inner courtyard.
"This as far as your mother and I can go," her father says, more to Rosa than to me. "Remember, keep your heads together and stay strong. We will be waiting for you in the outer courtyard until the selection is done."
Her mother, lovingly pulling us into her warm embrace, softly said "We love you both," before moving back to allow other parents some room to give their children some last-minute encouragement.
After making my way forward a few steps, I turned my head back, and saw Rosa just standing there.
"Come on," I said. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go home."
Rosa reluctantly turned her head away and we make our way through the gate to wait for the Selection to start. Making our way through, we are greeted with a sight that is not comforting at all. The inner courtyard is packed with children from all walks of life. It is still hard for me to imagine that all eligible children in the city state can fit in here.
Where most, on a day like today, would seek out a familiar face for comfort, I chose to stand alone, like a lone wolf. Not Rosa though. She quickly spotted some kids that she goes to school with, and now, they were all huddled together, a few feet behind me.
I just stand quietly, daydreaming of strawberry shortcakes and lemon tarts among other delicacies, waiting for the selection to begin.